Last week, I heard a presentation about Buddhism.  It was delivered by a person who has been a Buddhist monk for forty years.  Originally from Sri Lanka, he entered the monastery at the age of ten (largely on the encouragement of his parents, who thought that once he experienced the monk life, he would reject it) and never left.  Coming eventually to North America, he learned English and is now a part of a Buddhist community in the U.S.

     When I talked with other attendees about their response, they uniformly remarked at how happy and serene the monk was.  He was, many people noted, the "happiest" person they had ever met.  Indeed he was:  nothing seemed to faze him.
     Research supports this:  those who meditate regularly, as Buddhists do, experience a definitive lowering of heart rate and blood pressure.  Even some atheists practice it.
     On one point, however, Buddhism leaves me wondering.  Why am I here?  Sure, I love and appreciate peace and serenity (who would not?), but I also wish to know why, in this bewildering world, I invest in them.  What is it about me--and all of us--that drives us to elevate them?  We like them, yes, but that doesn't tell us why we do.
     We cannot assert the values of personality without being personal.  And we cannot be personal unless we live in a personal universe.
     And only a personal God can create a personal universe.
     Thank you, Buddhism, for reminding us of the essential elements of our earthly reality.